


Late Bloomer

by rotorhead



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Loss of Virginity, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotorhead/pseuds/rotorhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-programmed medics come with a lot of extra programming that has to integrate before their interface protocol activates. Leaving First Aid far behind the learning curve and he wants to catch up. Only it doesn't work out like he hopes. Sticky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

First aid fidgeted with his cube as he scanned the crowd inhabiting the rec room. Music played over the din of conversation and the occasional belt of laughter rose up from the mechs playing a drinking game by the couches. Spotting Bluestreak, the medic took a hesitant step forward only to pause when Sideswipe grabbed the mechs attention and turned him away from First Aids little corner position. 

His hands clenched on the half full cube and he took a sip of the high grade Jazz had thrust into his servos upon entering the room. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as the red lambo led the chatty gunner to couch to join in.

The small ambulance let out a defeated sigh.

He was hopeless.

The cube rose to his lips again and the fiery brew worked it’s way into him.

He never had a problem talking to mechs before, just walk right up and say what he needed to say. Now? His feet and vocalizer seemed to have rebelled against him and his face felt like the thermal regulator for his dermal layer had malfunctioned and been stuck on a high setting. 

Of course he had taken the time to look this… affliction up in the medical database.  
He was a medic after all and if he had contracted a virus, he didn’t want to infect anyone else.

Nope. Not contagious, but defiantly optic opening and face plate heating.

He was maturing. No, that was a human term, his spark had fully infused the base materials used to create him, stabilized and had integrated all sub and standard processor code so it automatically activated the last protocol of his initial level coding. The final codes being the difference in that without them, he had not noticed last week when he had cleaned green paint off of Prowl’s door wings, the mech had let out tiny little gasps and shutters when he ran his hand along the edge to make sure none of the paint had fouled any of the numerous sensors on the panel. Then, he had thought that he had been making the mech uncomfortable, maybe even hurting him. Now when he thought of the smooth, warm metal under his fingers and the nice angles of the door wings against the curve of Prowls back. First Aid stopped his thought process as his face had heated at the remembered “oh” his fingers pressing on the joint had brought from the stoic tactician. 

He noticed those things now, things that just didn’t click before, like the way Mirage let his hand linger on Hounds, and how the green mech grinned in response. He had always known they were friends… but now he recognized that they were more then that. That the subtle shift in Mirage’s posture, the slink as he pulled away, trailing his hand along the table before raising the cube he’s picked up to his lips. Hound knocked his chair over in his rush to stand up and follow the spy out. 

First Aid whimpered softly and shifted his feet again. 

Now that he noticed these things, it was hard to not see them.

To not steal a look at Sunstreakers backside as he walked towards the couches, to not see Smokescreen drag his hand over his bumper to remove a dibble of energon. 

He shifted again, the heat from his faceplate having drifted downward to the crux of his legs.

The medical database had all sorts of information pertaining to interfacing. Mostly various pictures and diagrams of hardware configurations that had made him have to stop or deal first, or more accurately, right hand with the evidence that he was ready to start interfacing.

That had led to the discovery that along with having to deal with pressure in his nether regions at the mere sight of Windcharger leaning over to pick something up of the floor, his feet and vocalizer would now betray him and refuse to work when a mech he noticed was aesthetically pleasing was in his vicinity. 

With a frustrated huff he drank the last of his cube and put it in the proper recycling bin.  
Actually what was more frustrating then suddenly wanting to interface and not being able to squeak out a hello to the mechs he’d like to maybe… try with, was that he’d also realized he was the last sealed mech on the Ark, probably on the whole planet. 

It had been there, all of it, in the bland medical terminology. Flight frames interface protocol initiated the quickest after initial on-lining. The Aeralbots were all flight frames and had all their interface hardware activate within a few weeks of each other. Wheeljack had even made a note of it because of the Autobots not having extensive information about seekers. Apparently, the innate Vosien cultural and social priorities that loaded with the flight data they had acquired meant that seekers or flyers in general liked to interface more often and that the Aeralbot’s learning the how too’s of love making with each other was right on par with seeker trines. 

It also meant that Blades activated first out of the Protectorbots. They had all been worried when their rotary winged brother had started sending odd things over the gestalt bond. Like the appreciation for an well proportioned aft, or the way Jazz danced and after what seemed like a vicious fight with Slingshot, punctuated with stabs of what they could only translate into processor blowing feedback, Blades had returned to their shared quarters feeling triumphant and sore. And now, First Aid knew why.

Hotspot, Streetwise and Grooves were all standard vehicle models and First aid could recall the embarrassment the others felt when he had caught them ‘snuggling’ and he had chastised them for not wanting him to join them. They all had each other to learn, with Blades showing them the basic’s and while Hotspot had since formed a firm friendship with the Aeralbot leader, Silverbolt, that included interfacing, Streetwise and Grooves had each other. It was more then just team mates and brothers, it was what Mirage and Hound had, he could feel it when they combined.

Now that he could recognize what it was that they felt.

He pouted, not that his mask and visor let it show in the dim room.

Maybe he was being too nice, but he didn’t want to intrude upon established relationships and quite frankly he was kind of mad at them for going through all this and not clueing him in.

The medic huffed as his foot tapped along with the beat. Several mechs started dancing a jerky, yet rhythmic maneuver that had a lot of hip movement and arm swing. Pipes had Warpath pirouette then dip before they both laughed and started doing the motions along with the others.

No.

It wasn’t their fault.

It wasn’t, even if the thought of them all interfacing each other without him, bothered him. He felt left out, like he wasn’t wanted, even though the moment he let that slip though the team bond his com pinged non-stop until he had talked to each of his siblings.  
Without anything to hold, First Aid’s hands held each other as he scanned the room for the separate energon dispenser that had the high grade. A smallish one had appeared next to the couches and he had dealt with too many hangover victims of the twins high grade to risk trying it. Besides, it meant he would have to go near Bluestreak and Sunstreaker and his feet rejected that heading, though the twinges in his interface hardware approved.

Hooting came from the couches and First Aid turned just in time to see Sideswipe holding his frame barely and inch away from Powerglides as he gyrated with the music. His face going as red as the warriors plaiting as his optics glued themselves to the mechs nicely proportioned skid plate that shifted ever so pleasantly as he performed the lap dance. The whole scene was hot, what with the jet leaning back against the couch, wings spread wide as Sideswipe shifted himself over the mech in a very suggestive manner. In fact… if they touched, First Aid would have though they were interfacing.

He whimpered as the heat gathering at his codpiece was joined by a throbbing pressure and a bead of lubricant leaking down his thigh. The medic vented heavily and in heated pulses as he desperately thought of other, not so pleasing things as he jerked his optics away from the lewd display.

It will hurt if he did try it.

Medics had a lot of pre-programmed data to integrate before the final interface protocols activated. To top it off, they came on-line with not one seal, but two. The first being the standard personality seal that only softened enough to be broken after the personality profile was fully integrated into a bot, and a second seal that protected the massive medical program from accidental alteration by unprotected data uploading.

It all meant that while Blades first ‘fought’ Slingshot almost a year after on-lineing and the others were ‘snuggling’ by 2, he was now close to 5 and this was his first case of horny with intent to remedy it.

And luck have it, the other Protectorbots were still in Miami helping out after the last Decepticon attack.

A twinge of sorry/worried/comfort came across the bond and First Aid raised a hand to his chest.

No he didn’t blame them, but he did want to interface. 

He wanted to just to know what it was like, what he was missing. Everything he read said that the first time hurt, but it still felt good. That a overload could feel like your circuits melted and exploded in a flurry of pleasure. Ok so he hadn’t gotten that bit off the medical data base. All it had was cold, impassionate data; he wanted to know what it was like. So he acquired one of Ratchet’s Playbot data logs and the submissions to Playbot article had described one of the most intense, optic shorting, left his chassis smoking overloads that had him standing in the wash racks for almost an hour.

He wanted to try that, even if it did hurt a bit, that would be worth it.

First Aids face blossomed in heat once again as Jazz danced provocatively with Huffer. Laughter rising up out of his companions as the intoxicated minibot met the saboteur with a very passable tango. The typically sour mini dipping the thoroughly amused Jazz and ending the dance with a hip shake and a double snap “O ley!” before falling over, passed clean out.

Jazz was nice to look at and nice in general and … and his feet refused to take the rest of the steps to the third in command.

The black and white smiled so big and dashingly First Aid wondered how Prowl could look into that visor and give a callous “no” to every party invite the mech gave him. The mech was walking towards him, Oh Primus what should he say?

“Hay First Aid, would you like to dance?”

The temperature in his hands plummeted as the temp in his face skyrocketed.

“Errrr.”

Static snapped out of his vocalizer and he franticly reset it as Jazz cocked his helm to watch him. 

“ I um, I would um, like to, with you.”

The music cut out as Pipes tripped over the power cord going to Blasters set up and “Like to, with you.” rang out clearly through the room. Even those playing the drinking game craned their helms around to give him an optic over before the chorus of laughter started up.

Even Jazz was laughing, his hand against his lip plates as his shoulders shook with mirth. Embarrassment burning so bright on his face he was certain he would melt his mask right off, the medic retreated to his corner. Jazz tried to wave him back to the dance floor as the music started back up, but Air Raid intercepted him with a MC Hammer ‘can’t touch this’ and the black and white had to defend the dance floor’s honor. 

First Aid sat down in a chair that had a mended leg and wobbled a tad as it took his weight. Yeah, ok, parties weren’t his thing. At least not without his brothers to include him. The science bots he tended to work with, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Skyfire and Percetor, none of them were partiers so that left him on his own.

Sinking so his elbow joints were propped on his knee joints, he buried his face in his hands.

He was so hopeless.

He wasn’t a strong frontliner with nice lines like the twins or a Praxian with those oh so alluring door wings, or even a smooth operator like Jazz. He was just little him who would have to wait for his brothers to come home to deal with his sudden emergence or lack there in, into the interfacing scene of the Ark.

“Hay, you look lonely”

First Aid looked up at the blue and red mech leaning over him and had to clear the static that rushed in to clog his vocalizer.

“Hay Tracks.”

He squeaked it out with the k sound several octaves higher then normal, but the sports car didn’t seem to notice.

“Your brothers are all still out there, right?”

Tracks gestured out, mostly to the dance floor, but First Aid understood what he meant.

“Yeah, we’re kinda the clean up crew, Hotspot is working to put of some fires and Streetwise…”

A red finger pressed the center of his mask.

“What about you? Aren’t you lonely?”

The finger curled and the knuckle ran down the side of his face mask. First Aid stared wide opticed at the red face and the finger dropped to his shoulder to tease one of his tires. His fans turned on and he sat up straight in his seat.

“It certainly sounds like your lonely.”

The Corvette leaned in close so his vents washed over First Aid’s straining sensor net. Each node rapid firing in response to the pleasurable sensation of the mech’s touch who started to draw little glyphs on his chest.

“I’m a little lonely tonight too. Perhaps we can find something to do… together.”

A whimper sounded in the medics vocalizer as he struggled to keep his interface cover from opening at the huskily whispered words.

“I um, I um, Yes?”

The fingers were back on his shoulder tire tracing the treads and a smile lit up the red face.

“Well what are we waiting for?”

With one last tweak to his tire the mech stepped away and First Aid whimpered again as he struggled to find his feet and to follow Tracks out of the rec room. He hadn’t had enough high grade to be drunk, but his pump seemed to pound and his hands temperature had dropped once again. 

What if he had mis-understood Tracks?

What if he disappointed him, it was his first time and yeah, he looked up techniques because he didn’t want to displease his partner, if he ever got one, but he had no practical experience.

Once the rec room door closed behind them and the muffled music faded with each step First Aid started to fidget.

What if it hurt, a lot? He knew it would hurt some, more then most because of his medical seal, but neither the database or the data log said anything about if he should do something to prepare beforehand.

His hands were shaking. Oh Primus.

Maybe he should wait for his brothers. Even if it hurt, Hotspot would make it better.

His feet stopped moving and Tracks turned to face him.

“Hm the quite type, I never figured you for that.”

Tracks pushed him against the wall as his lips feathered on the medics facemask.

“I’ll just have to see if I can get you to make some noise.”

The red hands found their way to his tires and pinched the rims in an oh so nice way as a leg pressed itself between his own and the sports car started revving his engine. The vibrations from Tracks frame as it pressed against his interface cover made him moan and reach out with his shaking hands to hold the blue frame pressing against his. Earning a moan in return when he blindly grabbed onto the underside to Tracks winglet. 

Encouraged, First Aid ran his hands down the blue back as lips and tongue teased his helm vents. He was already panting, spike straining against his cover as each little nip and suckle on his neck made the gathering tension in his groin grow exponentially. He activated the electro generators in the medical attachments in his hands then ran one vibrating finger along the edge of each stub wing and Tracks shuttered and arched against him as little jolts danced along his fingers.

“Lets, mmm lets take this inside.”

The door next to him beeped as it accepted the entry code and he shuddered as the chill air of the hall rushed in once the Corvette stepped away, but ran a hand down his trembling frame to take his hand.

“Come hither, better things await inside.”

The little chuckle nearly did him in , the sound running along his spinal struts giving him a full body shutter before he could follow him into his room.

It was dark, but Tracks led him to the berth before turning to face the heated medic.

“Which do you prefer?”

First aids spark pounded in his chassis, as his spike throbbed a counter beat against his cover, what did that mean? 

“What do prefer?”

He intaked a deep vent as he mentally cringed. He was flustered and nothing seemed to work right with his vocalizer leading the charge in the malfunctioning bits of himself. He just hoped the important pieces would work like they were suppose to.

“Hmmm courteous, I’ll spike you then.”

First Aid froze as Tracks spoke, spark beating wildly as the mech guided him to sit down next him on the berth.

“Relax, do that thing with your hands again, it feels wonderful.”

Trembling, First Aid re activated the electro generators and ran his hands down Tracks side.

“MMMmmmmmm, Oh. Touch my spike with those, Frag YES!”

At least now his hands were suppose to be shaking as he caressed where he figured Tracks most sensitive sensor nodes should be and pressed. The corvette was trembling, field crackling with energy as the soft snick of a retracting panel reached the inexperienced medic. Red hands took his and lifted one to Tracks face, the warrior pressing it to his lips before sliding his glossa over his vibrating digit then gently sucking.  
First Aid shifted as the pressure in his codpiece climbed toward critical mass, his hands were sensitive and each swipe of glossa combined with a little nibble made him whimper with growing need.

Pulling one of his hands away from his mouth Tracks gently trailed it down First Aids front. The vibrations adding to the heightened sensations as Track placed his hand over his straining codpiece and used his own finger to draw a little circle on the heated plate.

“Open for me, I can feel how hot you are already.”

His response came as a snick of retreating panel and First Aid threw his helm back and squeaked static as Tracks pressed his own vibrating finger into his leaking valve.

He was tight and slick and every little wiggle made odd noises catch in his throat and he could feel his spike, extended and throbbing against his wrist. The minor contact sending pulses zinging across his entire sensor net. Lubricant leaked down his thighs as he squirmed, hips rocking, thrusting to increase the contact against both his spike and in his valve as Tracks raised his other hand to his face. 

“One for you, one for me.”

The corvette attacked his other vibrating finger with his glossa, lapping at all the digits as his other finger brushed against his virgin nodes.

His venting came in ragged bursts as he felt the tension gathering, building in the crux of his legs. He whined as the glossa left his hand and it was pressed against the partially erect spike of his partner. First Aid let his finger slide out to trace the rim of his valve and let the waves of pleasure fall back enough to focus. 

He needed to please his partner. Still venting harshly he dragged his finger along the underside, listening to the sharp intake and feeling the hands that latched onto his wheel mount. 

Doubt stabbed at him. The vids in the Playbot had a femm using her mouth on a mechs spike. He didn’t know what else he could do with it. It was a spike that fit the owner, proportionally sized and complementary colored and he wrapped his hand around the partially limp member. Slowly moving from base to tip, dragging his finger around the tip before descending. Tracks thrust towards him as he arched back and howled.

“More!! Primus Fraggitall!”

Maybe this wasn’t enough, Tracks responded well but his spike wasn’t even as hard as First Aids. Pulling his hand from his thigh he wrapped both around the spike and kneaded the base as the other pumped the length. 

“OH,OH, OH.”

Track clung to him, licked his helm vents as his fingers dove into any seam they could as he thrust into the medics hands. Lines were pinched making First Aid flinch as a waft of high grade registered from the mech venting on him.

Still the length never rose to the occasion, the internal pressure staying low and First Aid was tempted to look up erectile dysfunction in his database. Maybe though, he just needed to do what the femm had done. With a nervous vent, he retracted his mask, the smell of ozone and high grade rushing in as Tracks pressed himself against the medic.

“No, I won’t, I won’t last, your good, I want too, too make you feel good too.”

The corvette pressed his lips against First Aids and the taste of highgrade invade along with the mechs glossa as Tracks shifted, pushing the medic onto his back.

First Aid had reached out to steady himself during the descent and when Tracks broke the kiss it was to slide between his legs and to hitch one up around his waist.

“Tracks, you’re overcharged.”

“Shh, yeah, I still want you, I’ll give it to you good, don’t worry.”

“Tracks, I haven’t, I still…”

The corvette slammed in and he silenced his vocalizer so he couldn’t scream.

“So tight, damn,”

What ever charge he had dissipated as the mech above him set a swift pace, he whimpered and clung as his venting shifted from raw passion to trying not to cry.

It hurt.

He could feel optic cleanser pooling in his visor and when Tracks lifted his leg to his shoulder and thrust in, a stab of processor blowing pain coursed through him. He jerked and flailed, clawing at the mech and screaming silently until he remembered to un mute his vocalizer.

“TRACKS!”

The blue and red mech slammed into him one last time before arching and roaring then collapsed onto him.

Still venting wildly, First Aid shook Tracks shoulder and was greeted with a loud rumble snore.

Tracks had passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help in the form of a dinobot.

First Aid sat dejectedly in a rocky nook situated discreetly on the side of the mountain the Ark had crashed into. Shifting yet again as the uncomfortable ache in his valve started pulsing its displeasure if he stayed in one position for too long. 

He wanted his brothers, yet he also didn't. He wanted Hotspot to hold on to him and stroke his helm and tell him what he should do and at the same time he wanted his brothers to leave him alone. To let him solve his own problems. The dichotomy of the conflict jerked him from one extreme of entering the com frequencies of his brothers, spark swirling with his longing and need for closeness. Then the next moment he’d closed his communications array and would seriously consider deleting his brother’s channels from his memory banks. 

The constant swing was frustrating and all four of his brothers had pinged him when the shot of panic and pain seeped through the bond, but he kept declining the requests to talk. He didn't know if he would yell at them for not being here, or cry helplessly like a lost sparkling needing comfort, or both. The little medic could feel the worry and confusion from them at being shut out, but did his best to keep his rolling turmoil of emotions to himself. They still had a job to do and he didn't want his problems to disturb them.

Besides, he didn’t want to tell them what he’d done. He was a fully protocoled mech now, he didn't need to be coddled any more than his thin plating and specialty field of expertise already got him favored for. His fists clenched at the thought of being left out, because of it again, that he must not be wanted. The anger shifting to a despair that he didn’t know he had. The white and red mech swiped at the trail of optical fluid that escaped out of his visors vent port and watched the headlights as one patrol returned and another left the Ark to keep the area around their impromptu home safe. His chosen spot was high enough on the mountain side that he could watch the come and go of his fellow Autobots and see the warm glow of Portland off in the distance, but unless he did something to announce his presence, those on the entry ramp wouldn't pick up his energy signature. 

It was where Streetwise and Grooves had shown him what the humans call constellations. The shape of stars in relation to other stars making rudimentary pictures with fascinating stories and mythos’s behind them. The despair morphed into a stab of longing that constricted around his spark and he folded his arms around himself in the hug he so desperately wanted. He hadn’t really planned on coming here, only changing his processor about going for a drive when his transformation shifted his pelvic plates in a very painful way, making him halt mid-change and opt go for a walk instead. Not that he got very far before having to stop because of the discomfort.

First Aid uncurled to shift in his seat and to rub small circles on his hip plates, willing the ache to subside and for the dribbles of energon to cease. The valve being an area where a medic couldn’t treat themselves. He knew he should go to Ratchet, but the Chief Medical Officer didn’t tolerate stupidity very well and the more he thought about what he let Tracks do, the more stupid he felt. 

His valve ached and throbbed, but the shame burned his core. He had followed the mech out of the rec. room like a pleasure bot and let him do as he pleased with him. Hands traced the rocks at his sides and his optics itched with fluid he was trying not to shed. Tracks had passed out on top of him, still inside him and from the energon that continued to leak out of his codpiece, had torn more than just his seals. He had rolled the heavier mech off of him, whose vents warbled in over charge the whole time with his spike still standing at half-mast. First Aid had cleaned them both up and left, limping for his shared quarters then heading out for a drive when the thought of the silence in the room and how he shouldn’t hide like a newspark waiting for his big brothers to make things better got the better of him.

What the frag was he doing? He was a medic for crying out loud, he should have known the damages that could result from letting Track spike him drunk and not fully erect. First Aid flung the nearest rock then pressed his long fingers to the sides of his helm as a strangled keen escaped his vocalizer.

He was so stupid to have let Tracks continue and Ratchet was going to whack him with a wrench. His mentor had never found a reason to use his patented “percussive maintenance” on him yet, and really First Aid had hoped to never be on the receiving end of a flying wrench. But really, limping in with a torn valve had “did stupid thing, got hurt because of it” written all over it.

Small pebbles ground into his armor as he shifted yet again. The cool air helped dissipate some of the heat that lingered in his frame as he vented harshly at his predicament, at his brothers and at everything. Leaning back to find a more comfortable position he used one arm to support his helm as his gaze drifted upward. Spotting the big dipper and Orion, idly wondering if his brothers were looking up at the sky in Miami, it should be almost morning there and Hotspot liked to get an early start.

A thump of a heavy footfall and the screech of pine needles on armor plating made him jerk. Moonlight shinning off the mismatched panels of a metallic tyrannosaurus that shook the last vestiges of an unfortunate pine from his frame.

“Grimlock, what are you doing here?”

First Aid shifted to a more natural position, unable to hide the wince when he sat up. The Dinobot leader had his helm cocked to the side as he looked at the medic and cycled air several times before speaking.

“You, First Aid, smell of energon and ozone.”

First Aide felt his facemask heat up, the quick clean up before he fled Track’s quarters hadn't gotten rid of the smell. Though he knew that Wheeljack had made the Dinobots as true as he could to the animals that had inspired them, with a few upgrades and whatnots. So having his olfactory node set to a higher calibration would be right on par with that. Still, he fidgeted, face mask attempting to melt itself off until he felt a dribble of energon escape his closed panel.

“Not supposed to leak there, mates take care of mates, not hurt them.”

The larger mech was still watching him with his head canted and his reply caught in his vocalizer several time before he could compile it into a proper response.

“He didn’t mean to hurt me…”

Grimlock growled, a deep and terrible sound that had First Aid cringe away. Pulling his hands to his chest to instinctively protect them as he stumbled to his feet. Optic fluid leaking out at the sharp tug of the tear reopening and he cried out, collapsing to his knees.

He twisted around, trying to relieve the pressure that felt like it was burning through him. He ended up on his side in the gravel as the blue glow of processed energon coated his thighs. He couldn’t help the whimper that escaped and he quickly wiped away the optical fluid seeping from his visor. The tempo of Grimlock’s engine slowed as the large mech leaned over the smaller. Nudging the medic with his snout.

“Grimlock com Ratchet, big medic help little medic.”

“NO! I mean please don’t.”

The Dinobot huffed as First Aid grabbed his nose, then noticed where he had grabbed and let go, looking away.

“You hurt, him Ratchet fix.”

First Aid looked back at the larger mech, visor dimmed and arms wrapped around himself.

“Please Grimlock, I did something stupid, ok. I didn’t tell him it was my first time and he was kind of drunk and couldn’t get hard all the way, but I wanted to, and I let him and Ratchet will be mad, Please don’t com him. I feel bad enough already I don’t want my boss to know I messed up this bad.”

Grimlock growled, not nearly as fiercely as before, but First Aid still flinched at the angry noise. The chirr of the Dinobot’s transformation echoed in the small rock alcove and Grimlock’s visor glared red at him, before the mech crouched down and reached out. Asking with a pause before lifting the medic and situating First Aid against himself so the medic wasn’t laying in the dirt and detritus. 

The strong pulse of the spark against his helm and the arms that wrapped around him reminded him of Hotspot and he couldn’t suppress the urge to press against the warmth. Clinging to Grimlock as his engine hiccuped and the Dinobot started to rub small circles on his back plates.

“You miss brothers. You want to be with them but can’t, so find someone else and they hurt you. You tell Grimlock who and Grimlock crunch them.”

“Please don’t crunch anyone, it’s my own fault. It really is.”

He could feel the growl in Grimlocks chest and the impressively strong arms around him held tighter. 

“Not your fault, you not want to get hurt. You wanted to ‘face, but not be hurt.”

His vents sputtered in the cool night air as optical fluid threatened to leak down his face plates yet again.

“Me, Grimlock, remember first time, remember wanting mech under me, and get really mad when others talk to the Dinobots. Me Grimlock…I , say this, best to learn with others still learning. Mistakes don’t seem bad when both make them.”

First Aide let out a little defeated noise.

“There was is no other mechs to learn with, I am- was the last sealed mech. I just wanted to know what it was like.”

His face plates burned in embarrassment, here he was pouring out his issues to a mech he really didn’t interact much with before he would return a com to his team. And Grimlock was quite a mech, big and strong and cared about his fellow Dinobots and he only talked like he did because of a programing conflict. The language sub-packs had been installed before the Dinobots first online, but because of the mental inadequacy of their first days it never fully integrated. The following upgrades did not replace the language protocols and the Dinobots now had quite good linguistic understanding, but still had some issues with words, mostly when in Dinosaur form.

He looked up at the mech with his face mask burning with embarrassment when Grimlock placed his hand on his arm and felt the larger mech give a little squeeze and making his fans turn on. 

“Interfacing is about trust, you trust your partner to treat you right and make it feel good and they trust you to return the gesture. Some mechs just want to feel good and don’t care if their partners get what they want or not. ”

There was a snort and the hand on First Aids arm patted gently.

“Don’t want to see you be used, you like helping, like making mechs feel better. You don’t have to do whatever they want to make them feel good. Do what you want, to make you feel good, even if it means saying no and leaving to find a different mech that can give you what you want.”

The medic’s chest felt tight and he pulled away a bit so he could get a better look at the mech talking to him. There had been so many questions floating around in his processor about interfacing and now that he had someone to talk to about it, they all dissipated into the starry night.

“Right now it’s all new, all big and heavy and swirling and you want. It calms down soon, so that everything isn’t giving you a charge or making you mad or making you run away and hide and you can see past the superficial, him is pretty, to see that Tracks only wants to feel good for the night and don’t care who makes him feel good and won’t care who made him feel good in the morning.”

“How- How did you know it was him?”

“Blue paint and the smell of lemon wax. Sunstreaker uses unscented.”

His lip was wobbling against his mask as he held on to the larger mech who patted him on his alt mode kibble.

“Please don’t crunch him. This is a big enough mess already and, and I want to handle my own problems.”

Grimlock stood up and First Aid squeaked as he lifted him. Throwing his arms around the Dinobots neck for support as the larger mech moved him to a low stone outcropping before setting him down. The medic winced and shifted to find a position that didn’t put pinch his nether regions.

The mostly black and yellow mech stepped close, running his thumb across First Aids mask and to gently tilt the medics chin up to look him in the visor. 

“You wanted Tracks to frag you?”

First Aid felt his mask set itself to volcanic and he stuttered several times before managing a meek “yes”.

“You never told him to stop?”

The smaller mech thought about earlier, of turning off his vocalizer and only shouting Tracks name before the Corvette finished and passed out. He had thrashed a bit… but he never told the mech to stop.

Grimlocks thumb swiped across his mask again and the fingers curled under his chin felt cool against his heated face plates.

“No, I never told him to stop. I –I turned off my vocalizer because I knew having your seals broken would hurt and I didn’t want to scream. He finished really quickly and I never had the chance to say anything.”

The Dinobot snorted, but let go. The yellow blocks of color catching meager glints of lights from the Ark’s entry way and the intense red glow of his optic band as Grimlock looked over him made strange fluttering’s happen in his interface. First Aid shifted, red foot scraping on the rocks and sending a few tumbling down.

“You feel it, right now, because of me.”

First Aid pulled his arms up to hide his face as he looked away.

“It’s that obvious? I’m sorry… I… I”

The Dinobot chuckled and patted his shoulder as First Aid made a whining noise and covered his face with his hands.

“I’m flattered, but I wouldn’t consider it until your coding has settled and your valve is healed. You should go to Ratchet, I can smell the energon leaking along with the lubricants.”

The smaller mech wrung his hands in absolute mortification and made small beeps of distress. OF course Grimlock would be able to smell his arousal. He was Grimlock and First Aid didn’t stand a chance with him and would his fans please stop turning on to echo in the small area. The Dinobot was still standing next to him, frame giving off little heat pings in the night and the medic whimpered. He needed to say something, apologies preferably, then crawl under a rock, a large one and not come out… ever.

Which of course, is not what managed to come out of his vocalizer.

“It’s really not that bad, I can’t see it to check it, but once I hold still long enough for the nanite’s to form the patch the leaking will stop. I tried to put a nanite slave on it to help, but it’s a rather awkward area… eep!”

Grimlock grabbed the smaller mechs leg and pulled him around to face him then knelt so his bulk was between First Aids legs. 

“Give me the salve.” 

“It’s ok! I can do it.”

First Aid tried to pull himself out of the larger mechs hold who still had his hand resting on his knee joint. The Dinobot did not resist his attempts to flee, but as soon as he twisted to avoid kicking the mech, his pelvic array cried out and he had to return to his previous position.

“You just said it was awkward to reach and if it’s not that bad… then I won’t drag you to Ratchet.”

He noticed a gleam, well he hoped it was a gleam, in Grimlocks optic band and he still did not want to have to explain this fiasco to his boss. And really, what could happen? The Dinobot leader was actually a good commander, sure he was a ‘kill it with fire first and hope is wasn't important later’ type, but he was also very good with the other Dinobots and was very smart. Once you looked past the speech problem in dino form thing, and frankly they played it up so they would be underestimated. AND finally, he was a big, hot hunk of Dinobot that in all honestly, he kind of wanted between his legs.

It took him a moment, mostly to force the idea of Grimlock between his legs to a non-fan activating part of his processor and give up not being able to find one. Slowly, only as an attempt to hide how bad he was shaking, he pulled the salve out of a medical compartment on his side and handed it over.

He could hear the soft ‘pop’ of the lid being removed and felt the hand on his knee nudge his leg to open more. Staring up at the stars and hoping to not be judged to harshly for what Grimlock would find, he opened wider to accommodate the large mech. First Aid hissed softly at the sting as his valve pinched from the new position and leaned back trying to get somewhat comfortable. Grimlock’s helm was between his knees and his vents batted against the medic’s inner thighs, making him twitch every time they ghosted a crossed him.

“When you’re ready, open.”

With a soft whimper he opened his panel, hands scrabbling against the rocks under him as he felt the Dinobots salve coated finger trace his valve. Leaving the slick nanite paste in his wake as he worked his way from the frontal node and back around. Pausing to scope up more salve with his dark finger.

This was how it should have been. Slow and nice.

“Ready?”

He squeaked, then nodded as he braced, this was not going to be nice anymore. Grimlock slowly pressed into his damaged valve, the cooling effect of the salve a harsh contrast to the slick heat of his walls. He tried to not make any noise to make the Dinobot stop as the pinch turned into a bite as the mech approached ever closer to the pained area with his finger. 

He could feel energon start to drip down his aft and the itch of optical fluid at his visor when Grimlock went for another scoop of salve. With a brief nod, and squeeze from his hand still on his knee, the larger mech returned his finger and brushed it against the damages. First Aid arched and sputtered static, covering his face mask with his hands again and trying to pull away from the invading digit. 

“One more and I’m done.”

Quickly the kneeling mech gathered another finger full and applied it to First Aid, pushing in farther until the smaller mech felt a differing pinch and the finger twisted slightly.

“Tracks must not have been very hard at all, he failed to break your seals.”

A loud crash brought Grimlock to his feet and around to face the red blur that had stepped out from the last bank of pines in a flash.

“Die!! Deceptico… oh, um sorry.” 

The Dinobot crouched in front of the still prone medic with his sword at the ready. Cliffjumper had his weapon drawn and hastily pointed it away from the snarling Grimlock as First aid snapped his panels closed and pulled himself away from the suddenly hostile mechs.

“The front guard saw movement, and yeah… I’ll be going now.”

The brash red minibot staggered back through the trees in a rush. The foot falls unsteady as he slid some of the way back to the main trail.  
When the sound of Cliffjumper’s retreat could no longer be heard, Grimlock straightened and sheathed his sword. Turning to the small medic who seemed frozen with a shocked expression across his face.


	3. Confusion

Late bloomer Chp3

The static noise repeated itself, gaining in frequency and volume and not for the first time First Aid considered deleting the internal alarm. He had downloaded it from Wheeljack, that alone should have warned him about it. It was intuitive, the inventor had said, it monitored his energy levels and only turned off once it registered that you were at 60% online capacity. Great for making sure you really got up, really bad if you forgot to turn it off before your day off, because once going it could only be shut off by an online status.

With a whine and a hand to his helm, the Protectorbot medic forced himself to sit up and attempt to shake the recharge from his system. He had several hours before he had a shift in the medical bay, Ratchet volunteered for the morning shift so he could make the poor bots crawling in for a fit for duty after the party truly miserable. The lights were sure to be set to extra bright with excessive stomping and a few extra wrench to helm collisions. There were a few messages to him from bots wanting him to ease their ‘suffering’, but he knew better than to take away from Ratchet’s fun. That and he already wasn't looking forward to showing up for his shift where the elder medic would undoubtedly notice his discomfort.

The thought of Ratchet’s ire directed at him brought his optics online and made the static clear from his audios. His valve ached and there was energon on his thighs judging by the stickiness. He really should go to Ratchet to get looked at and he promised Hot spot a com call. Last night, at Grimlock’s request he sent his big brother a message, saying that his protocols had come online and that he was going through some stuff that he didn't want to bother him with. Hot spot had commed him immediately and made him promise to bother him more often. That they were ‘this close’ to telling Prowl to recall them so they could find out what was bothering him. Finally letting up on the choke hold he’d been holding his team bond in, the wash of worry from his brothers nearly floored him. First aid lifted a hand to his chest, the warm thrum of the bond pulsing in his spark. Open and transmitting back and forth like it should be.

He could feel Blade’s strain under a heavy load and added his encouragement to that of the others. Streetwise was totally engrossed in finding the last few humans in the destroyed city block, the hardest ones to locate being the ones that were not hurt and wanted to stay out of a perverse sense of ownership to the destroyed buildings. Grooves was wearied, coordinating with the human teams working alongside his brothers and Hotspot was the brick foundation of calm and sincerity that held them together. The myriad of sensations from his siblings providing a ground and center for his own, adding his to the whole so they didn't feel so sharp and stinging. 

With a hum, he swung his legs over the side of his berth, wincing at the pinch in his nether regions. It was better, the nanite salve Grimlock had applied had really helped. He knew it was mostly just the pain sensor dampening effect of it, but it was nice to be able to move with minimal pain. The medic hadn't told Hotspot everything, only that he’d tried to interface and that it did not go well. He figured he would tell his big brother about it when he was wrapped up in his arms, hugging him so tight it almost hurt and Hotspot could rub his back as he told him it would all be OK. He really wanted this to be all OK, because there was still a part of him that didn't feel OK, and it wasn't his valve.

Grabbing a rag and a mild cleanser from his storage unit, First Aid hastily removed the dried energon from his thighs before leaving his quarters. The silence in the Protectorbot common area bothered him. It was still early, Hotspot would already be hard at work at the table in the corner, data pads festooned around his big blue form. Grooves would be on the couch watching the morning news with Streetwise, both not saying much before their first cube of the day. Blades would either be draped over the arm rest snoozing until Hotspot sent him out, or grumbling about how just because the boss like to be up before his sanity chip activated it didn't mean the rest of them had to wake up.  
While that was true, none of them could really recharge with the others up and about. The sensations coming over the bond would wake them. Even after a marathon in the med bay post battle he would wake up after only a few hours charge to sit next to Hot spot, wherever he was and lightly doze as the larger mech continued to do whatever it was he was doing. Now they all were gone, the television was off and there were no grouchy helio slumping around or a morning mech at the table. 

First Aid ex-vented heavily in the dim room, focusing on the sensations coming over the bond. Blade’s shot of pride and accomplishment as the landed the heavy load without incident and Hotspots warm well done in return. He let out a low keen, reaching out for them over the bond as his hands came to rest over his spark. He wanted to be there, with them, to not feel the strain of distance over the bond, to hear their voices along with the spark pulses. The small medic was trembling as he ran his hands over his face plates, they had been separated for longer time then this, but he felt so lonely it ached. The resulting pulses of comfort and just made the distance seem so much greater and he turned on his heel and left. Just like that he wanted to com Hotspot again even though it had been only been 6 hours since he had last spoken with him. He wanted some noise, some proof he wasn't alone because his spark ached with loneliness in the silent room.

His arms wrapped around himself and he squeezed in a self-hug. He wasn't glitching, gestalts had issues with being alone. Everyone knew that, so why did they send his whole team, sans him, to Miami? He stopped at the Aerialbots quarters, knocking twice and not getting a response. A roster check put them on a training mission in Arizona. He did his best not to whimper, Silverbolt would have understood what he was going through and his team were plenty noisy.

He turned towards the rec room, someone was bound to be in there. Someone was always in there. It was approaching ten, the early watch should be coming off shift with the gap shifts starting in whatever staggered sequence Prowl had come up with for this week. Unintelligible voices reached him before the medic entered the rec room. Minutely, First Aid relaxed as his gestalt links begrudgingly accepted the presence of others in his brother’s stead. He wasn’t that hungry but, if it meant he staved off the claws of loneliness, he would grab a cube and sip it in a corner. 

The door slid open and he stepped into the room he had followed Tracks out of last night. The thought of that making his mask heat from embarrassment and he stopped when the mech in question’s voice made his helm snap to the side to find the freshly waxed corvette sitting with his back to the door.

“I’m telling ya, He was the best I've had and I've had a few.”

Tracks sat with the chair back under his chin, straddling the seat with half a cube on the table in front of him as his hands tapped the table for emphasis. First Aids feet magically welded themselves to the floor as his face plates attempted to melt his mask. His spark thumped wildly in its chamber, not from lust this time, but from embarrassment.

“He blew my processor, slag I had to stop his from blowing my spike or else I wouldn't have lasted near as long as I did.”

First Aid stifled a meek cry and felt as his lip wobbled behind his mask at the sharp tingle of knowing the mech was messing up the details of their encounter and telling everyone! What if Ratchet found out? What if HotSpot heard this side of it?

“He was going to do that? On the first go?”

Pipes leaned toward the larger car and First Aid’s feet seemed to come unglued from the floor at the minibots accusing tone. He backed away, he didn't want to hear them talking about him, making it seem like he planned last night. That him and Tracks was a good thing, because it wasn't. He turned away, the twist making a sharp twinge in his damaged valve and he wrung his hands in frustration as his gestalt links screamed for mech contact. His feet stopped and First Aid shook from the force of his internal conflict, wanting to both leave and to stay oh so very badly.

“More than that, his hands, oh what he did with his hands.”

The medic jumped when an arm slid around his shoulders and the warm hum of a sleek racing frame pressed against his. Sideswipe grinned at his startled squeak and squeezed the medics shoulder as his field danced against his own. Teasing, enticing and soothing the links cry’s for some sort of contact.

“Come sit with us, Tracks here was just telling everyone about last night.”

First Aid froze, everyone? How much did the corvette remember? It would be rude to say that he could not have remembered much passing out as he had. First Aid was sure face was melting judging from how hot it felt, just from the thought of everyone knowing. Plus he couldn't do anything but tremble in the Lamborghini's hold because his legs refused to function this close to someone who looked as good as the red warrior did.

Sideswipe gave a little laugh before giving a nudge and the small medic stumbled forward. Feeling ungraceful and awkward next to the confident strut of the guiding red mech, whose actions alerted the others. He sat down with a wince at the table across from a wide opticed Pipes and a smug looking Tracks. Powerglide sat lounging on the nearby couch watching him like a hawk and Hoist had a sour face as he surveyed the damage to the rec room from the party.  
Sideswipe brought his chair close and sat next to First Aid, his leg brushing the medics and First Aid felt the warmth from the contact and studiously examined the table in front of him. He should just leave now, he wasn't hungry and he didn't want to talk right now. He felt Sideswipe shift next to him, leaning on the table in that nonchalant sort of way of his. That felt nice, the closeness, the leg pressed against his and the feeling of not alone it caused. Maybe they wouldn't talk about last night, maybe he could stay here until his shift in the med bay started.

“So you fragged Tracks and Grimlock, both in the same night.”

“What! No! I”

“Ahh come on now, Clifjumper saw you with the Dinobot and Tracks can’t stop gushing, hehe, about your berth prowess.”

The red Lamborghini took a swig of his drink and set the cube on the table. He reached out and toyed with the tire on First Aids shoulder, then stated to tease his transformations seams in a general downward drift. It felt good, and he vented heavily, not sure what to do. He wanted interaction, but not this sort. The Lamborghini’s fingers dipped into a seam on his side and he remembered Tracks hands roving over his frame. That had felt good too, right up until the spiking. He could feel his struts tense and he dropped his hands to his lap as he felt a tightness form in his chest. 

Grimlock had said interface was supposed to mean something, that it was about trust and feelings and that Tracks didn't care. He hadn't quite understood what the Dinobot was saying, they were Autobots, and he trusted his fellow Autobots. But, Tracks was saying things about him that he had no way of knowing and had hurt him. He didn't like that, he had trusted Tracks to show him how it was done and had torn his valve. Now the mech sat across from him, polished to a mirror finish and made little suggestive eyebrow movements at him as he spoke.

“Nothing to be worried about, some of us were wondering when your brothers would stop hogging you.”

First Aid jumped as a hand caressed his thigh and Sideswipe leaned oh so close. He smelled of high performance oils and mild cleanser, and that smile. The red mech was dashing and charming, but what if he was like Tracks? Just wanting what he could get and not caring if he hurt his partner. Still, his vents picked up and he leaned against the warm plating, his gestalt links sighing in relief of having another spark close to his own.

The hand gave his thigh a little squeeze and First Aids vocalizer coughed static. The front liner laughed before pressing closer, his venting and now decidedly lustful field washing over the small medic who kept his optics locked on the table in front of him. His face mask felt like it was on fire and his hands wrung in his lap. He wanted this closeness to sooth him, in a way it did, but it also made his tanks roll in nervousness. Sideswipe wanted to interface him, like Tracks and be done with him. 

The exploring hand made it to the juncture of First Aids legs and tapped a finger on his covers. He lifted his face and met the entranced gaze of Pipes, the Minibot shifting in his seat as Sideswipe ran his fingers ever so gently over his cover, silently asking for him to open it as his other hand swirled the energon in his cube.

The shame and embarrassment burned and the medic stood up, nearly dropping the red twin onto the floor and backing up.

“Hay don’t be like that, I promise to be a thousand times better then Tracks.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Aw come on, what? Is it because I’m red?”

“No, no I just don’t want to, right now. I just… oww.”

He had been backing up, making his way to the door and jostled a table holding a still passed out Trailbreaker. The damage in his valve gave a solid pinch of displeasure and he stumbled, having to reach out to steady himself and inadvertently grabbing the large black SUV.

“Oh, I get it, your valve is sore from the double pounding. Well, let me know when its back in operating condition, I want to see if I came take it back out without you having to run to a Dinobot to finish you off.”  
They laughed, even Hoist laughed and First Aid felt the sting of cleanser at his optics as he fled the room. He made it to the hall outside the Medbay and leaned heavily on the wall, trying to stop his hitching vents and rubbing away the cleanser trails from his visor.

His brothers sent him a pulse of worry and comfort and he wrapped himself in that feeling until he stopped trembling enough to straighten and walk into the medbay. Grumpy Ratchet would be better than the rec room. Even the wrench to the helm for his foolishness was looking good compared to the pinches and twinges he kept feeling. Motioning for the doors to open he went right to his first task of the day; cleaning the tools at the ultra-sonic cleaner in the back. Ratchet would find him out soon enough, right now he wanted to do something to get his mind off Tracks and the lingering warmth from Sideswipe’s touches. Besides, the senior medic was not as grumpy about things when he had clean tools.

“Oh, No you don’t. Come here First Aid.”

He froze at the sound of Ratchets voice coming from the office that overlooked the medbay. Still several steps away from the precariously few tools that had gathered overnight, disappointment rose up that he couldn't even get a few done before getting caught. Hard work was always a good bargaining chip with Ratchet as was keeping a clear head. Something he currently didn't have. His hands clenched in worry as he turned and walked stiffly to the Chief Medical Officers office. A part of him almost glad to be getting this over with, while a larger part was not looking forward to his mentor’s disappointment and the vast majority was just upset in general. 

Ratchet sat with his arms crossed behind his desk, face set in a grim expression and First Aid felt the heat of the CMO’s intense gaze on his plating as his approach dwindled to a crawl, before he finally halted in front of the desk piled with data pads. The smaller ambulance fretted, shifting from foot to foot and trying to find an unassuming position for his hands as he waited for the clink of wrench being summoned to his boss’ palm.

A hearty slap to his back plate nearly knocked him over.

“Congratulations, on becoming a fully protocolled mech!” 

Wheeljack’s helm fins flashed blues and greens at his outburst and while he couldn't see the inventor’s expression through the blast mask, the crinkle at the corner of his optics belayed his merriment. 

“Had us worried there for a minute, you’re the last one and late by over a year, but that doesn't matter. We should celebrate!”

The inventor waved his hands around with his words then crushed him in a hug that he so desperately needed. Pressing himself against the familiar comfort of the inventor and taking the opportunity to look at the still grumpy CMO over Wheeljack’s shoulder. 

“Jack, come on this is serious.” 

“Awe come on yourself, two in one night isn't bad. He’s a medic, I remember when YOUR protocols activated…”

Ratchet thumped the desk with his fist sending data pads tumbling onto the floor in a medical chart avalanche.

“This isn't about me, this is about protocols and procedures.”

Jack let the smaller medic go with a pat on the shoulder, but remained standing next to him. Ratchet let out a vent and signaled for the door to close, standing up at the click of the lock.

“First Aid, when our protocols come online the drive to help and care gets a bit… warped, and we end up trying to help others feel better in … different ways.”

The junior medic detected a rise in heat in his mentors face plates as the elder medic paused to rub his chin. Wheeljack took the opportunity to lean in close and give a conspiratorial wink.

“What he is trying to say is that medics go all shareware when their protocols activate.”

Never in all his relatively short life had First Aid wished for harm to come to others, but right now a Decepticon attack would be considered a blessing. He knew what to do during an attack, right now all he could do was stare dumbly in Ratchets general direction as he felt his tank go dry and his face mask go thermonuclear. 

“JACK! That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

It was obvious now that Ratchet was flustered, there were no wrenches being flouted and there was more than a bit of embarrassment in his field.

“Listen, First Aid, you can do what you please in the berth with who you please, but in the med bay it’s strictly professional. Got it? No feeling up components during exams. No horizontal healing.”

The elder medic looked at him awaiting some sort of acknowledging response and all he could do was nod.

“I won’t judge you for your…future exploits, Primus knows what I did when mine came online, but it’s normal to be promiscuous during this time, so this thing with Tracks and Grimlock is OK. Pit, half the ark has been eagerly waiting for your protocols to come online, as medics are renowned for their berth abilities and frankly I’m not interested. So you’ll have the next few weeks off to sort yourself and whoever else you want out. I’ll be around in case you have any questions or need to know if certain positions are possible.”

The CMO came around from behind the desk and gave his junior medic a quick hug before clasping him on both shoulders.

“Welcome to the rest of your life.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the Kudo givers and the reviewers who feed my soul, and to Ceryskittys twerking Rodimus on tumblr. May dat aft forever twerk.
> 
> Not betaed, may have some errors.   
> (minor edit 1/31/15 to clean up the last few paragraphs)

Late bloomer  
Chapter4  
First aid took a step, hands twisting together in a perpetually changing hold. The pressure on his knuckle joints provided a glimmer of comfort as the small medic took a few more strides in the large common room. He shuddered and walked past the oversized television that had the volume set just high enough so that the noise made it seem like the room wasn’t nearly as empty as it was. The light from it flickered against the unoccupied couch with each change of scene and the overhead lights, dimmed for day use, made the four closed doors seem ominous. Even Blade’s door that had pictures of brightly colored cartoon helicopters cut out and pasted to it, seemed so forlorn, closed as it was.

The small ambulance halted right in front of the door and reached out to touch the red helicopter that was pasted in the center.

He needed his brothers.

Needed them so bad his spark ached worse than his valve, even now with the nanite salve having worn off.

His frame shook as he sent out another ping for them, having it return unanswered like all the rest.

First Aid leaned forward, resting his fore helm on the cool door and let out a needy whine.

This was stupid and he wanted it to stop. The ambulance pulled away from the door to clutch at his chest plate with a whimper. If being fully protocoled meant going through all this, all the shifting moods and internal conflicts he would have happily stayed un-protocolled and sealed for the rest of his existence.

He figured the separation from his brothers was the big push that tipped the scales to his activation. His team, minus him, had been kept at the last three battle grounds for weeks afterwards. Yes, it was what they were designed for. Helping and assisting the humans, but it meant he was lonely and the gestalt bond needed to be re-affirmed and if not by a team member, then by the closest substitute, a lover. 

Something he needed his full protocols for and since he was a medic he would, how did Wheeljack put it? Go all shareware without his gestalt to help him through it.

No. He had Tracks. Or Tracks had him. His plating crawled with the memory and his vents hitched at the thought of going back out there to the rest of the Ark. To every mech that wanted to have a go with him and how if his valve wasn’t torn, he probably would let them.

First Aid shifted on his feet at the warmth that train of thought produced and pressed the bond for glimmers of emotion from his brothers. They were all busy, they were always busy. Blades was flying, Grooves coordinating, Hotspot putting out fires and Streetwise assisting the police. First Aid whimpered against the surge of anger and the backlash of guilt that swiftly followed. He shuttered his optics as he wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to mimic the feel of Hotspot arms around him. Rocking with the memory of each exvent and the strong pulse of his larger brother’s spark.

He whined with the press of need in his spark and sobbed in frustration when the need traveled south to his damaged valve. 

He didn’t want this.

The neutral tone of his com pinged on his status feed and he immediately opened the channel, expecting the supporting voice of his older brother as he was damn near begging for contact over the bond. 

[Hay, um, I was wondering if you would mind letting me in? I’ve been at your door for a few minutes and you never answered.]

The hesitant tenor of Powerglide greeted him, and First Aid let his hands fall from his chest with a startled squeak. Chiding himself for not checking the identification marker on the com and hastily wiped the optical fluid from his visor that he didn’t recall shedding. He really didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, dealing with himself was difficult enough. 

[First Aid?]

Still, there was no reason to be rude.

[Oh, I’m sorry, things have been rather crazy.]

The small medic dashed, grimacing at the unpleasant tug in his neither regions then did his best to hide the sound of his limp to the door. Taking a moment to gather himself before opening it. Powerglide’s shoulder mounted wings were canted, catching the light and showing off the sleek flight surfaces as he draped himself across the doorway. He’d polished in the hour or so from the last time First aid had seen him in the rec. room and the effect of the light playing on those smooth angles made the twinge in his valve give over to a more pronounced throb.

First Aid’s mask was warming up as he stammered, wide opticed at the mech who seemed to notice his fluster and preened under the medics gaze. Shifting ever so suggestively, Powerglide removed himself from the doorframe and offered something to the stunned medic. 

“I brought a cube.”

The previously tenor voice was low and husky as the warm pink of a quality brewed high grade was placed into the dumbfounded Protectorbot’s hands as the mech sauntered passed him into the common room. The dimmed lights casting shadows that just highlighted the curves and angles of the flight surfaces and nicely proportioned skid plate that by Primus, swayed with each step.

“I… Ummm… Thank you?”

There it was, that not so little flutter just above his neither regions and the sensation of lubricant gathering against his closed interface panel.  
The red and white jet let his gaze wander over the room, giving the couch a once over then stopping at the table, dragging his finger across the smooth surface and shifting ever so slightly, field broadcasting arousal so clear it made First Aid tremble from across the room.

“Imagine your vents clouding the surface when I frag you from behind.”

The medics fans kicked in, his face and interface heated up and First Aid let out a small whine as he shuffled his feet to hide the energon stained lubricant he felt escape his covers.

“Oh, you like that? Dirty talk is your thing? I can do that.”

The jet’s mask retreated with a soft snick and the mech smiled at him, then licked his plush lips, insinuating he could do a lot more than just talk dirty.

“I c-can’t…”

First Aids lips quivered behind his own mask, one side of him wanting to run and the other desperately wanted to see what all Powerglide could do. The ache in his chest from the stress on his gestalt bonds urged him to get closer to the mech. Much closer and preferably under and around.

He let out a few shaky vents, fighting the urge to gravitate towards the sultry jet as the mech ran a hand down his front, trailing his fingers over his chest then giving a little tweak to the edge as he started talking. 

“It’s rather reflective so you could see you facial expressions change between each exvent.”

The mech was watching him as he walked slowly towards him, flight panels slowly sweeping back and forth as the husky voice continued on and hands roved over the heated frame.

“You’d have a hold of the edge and it would scrap the floor every time I slammed back into you.”

First aid had to reset his command to stop his panels from opening and felt as even more lubricant leaked out of him to stain his thighs. His fans roared and the intensifying prickle of the mechs field dancing over his own, oozed lust. The tingle and throb in his loins, tightened to a hard knot of want and his valve agonizingly clenched against nothing.

“You would only be able to see a faint smudge of me over you, but the wet sound of my spike sliding in and out of your tight little valve would echo slightly.”

Powerglide reached out to put his fingers under First Aid’s chin, tilting the medic’s helm up and caressing the facemask with his thumb.

“Open this.”

With a snick he felt the cool air against his moistened lips and the thumb gently ran over them. He didn't have to give the command, it just opened. Was that normal?

“They will look wonderful stretched around my spike. I heard you liked to give head from Tracks.”  
His motor sputtered to life as the cube slid from his frozen hands, shattering at his feet. His optics had cycled to their widest setting and he trembled so hard he rattled.

“First Aid? Are you okay?”

The jets voice was normal but the hand on his shoulder made him flinch away and back up with a high pitched whine. Cleanser gathered in his visor, leaking out at the corners and when the mech took a step towards him, he bolted.

His feet kept moving even though he had no idea where he was going. Ratchet was still in the med bay and said that this was ok, that it was normal for medics, that he should do whatever with Powerglide and there was lubricant dribbling down passed his knees. 

It left little trails of energon and he could feel it smear over his thighs with every stride.

The jet called out to him and the Protectorbot ducked into a maintenance storage room, stepping in a bucket as he manually forced the door to close faster and deactivated the lights. Pulling his field in tight to not give his location away.

Footsteps rushed passed his hiding spot and his name was called again.

The optical cleansing fluid he’d been trying not to shed leaked out as he hiccupped in distress. Clamping down on the bond so he wouldn’t bother his brothers. First Aid felt his way to the back wall and slowly let himself down to sit on the floor, knocking a mop over when he nudged it out of his way. His valve pinching in displeasure when he leaned forward to wrap his arms around his knees so he could smother his sobs.

Tracks told everyone he was shareware and now everyone thought he would do…everything. He didn’t want everything, he wanted a friend to curl up with. Someone who understand about his damaged valve and not press the issue, he wanted his brothers.

He wanted his brothers so bad. 

His com pinged and he remembered to check the identification this time, rejecting the request from Powerglide. 

The small medic turned off his com unit and sat in the dark silence of the room, his vents slowly spooling down and his sobs fading back into hiccups. He felt dirty. The plate crawling feeling from last night with Tracks was getting worse and the bucket on his foot didn’t help any.

His face itched from the cleanser and he scrubbed his visor with the back of his hand. Shakily First Aid removed the bucket from his foot and stood up, activating his infrared to get a look at the mess he’d made in the maintenance room. 

With a wearied sigh, he re-organized the mops and cleaned out the bucket before adding it to the stack in the corner. He’d bent it a little out of shape, but it was still useful and he rubbed the damaged area in apology before leaving.

A quick roster check had Powerglide on a patrol which made him check, then recheck his chronometer.  
He’d spent an hour and half in the company of mops with a bucket on his foot.

Defiantly not one of his finer moments.

With a huff he rounded the corner and went to the wash racks. The Protectorbot quarters had their own, but was on the other side of the residential block and he was sticky and icky and just wanted to get clean.

From Powerglide and Sideswipe and Tracks and the whole everything.

The troop wash rack was able to accommodate up to 6 mechs at a time, but was thankfully empty at this time of day. First Aid took the back corner shower head and started to wash down. The mild solvent ran over his plating in soothing ripples. Washing away his tears and the energon on his legs. Grabbing a cloth he added the strongest cleanser, one he had to dilute so it wouldn’t bother his sensors or eat his paint and started to scrub. 

The ambulance had only done a quick clean up last night, Primus, it seemed so much longer then yesterday.

The coursing solvent felt good, washing away the last day and a half. Letting out a quick scan to see who was around, the medic hesitated and re-scanned before opening his valve cover. The slick feeling of his energon and lubricant dripping down his legs had him re-scrubbing after the trails. Trembling, First Aid let one of his fingers trace his opening then dipped it in. Shuttering his optics and feeling for the damaged area, trying to gage if he needed more nanites or something even more drastic.

The door slid open and he yelped, snapping his optics on and panels closed as he straightened. Fumbling with the cleanser to not have to speak to the mech who’d just entered and hopefully didn’t see him hunched over with his finger in his valve.

“If you’re going to self-service do it in your own wash bay.”

First Aid whined at his bad luck and turned slightly to see who had come in. 

Sunstreaker looked like his normal radiant self, disdain clouding the otherwise impeccable faceplates. The yellow warrior stood just a step into the wash rack, effectively blocking the way out and First Aid fidgeted at that prospect then dropped his gaze to the grates and toggled the solvent off.

“I’m – I’m Sorry, I’ll be going now.”

He took a few hesitant steps toward the yellow twin who didn't budge but his deep blue optics glared at him the entire time.

“You missed a spot.”

First aid stopped and did a quick inspection, registering movement only after Sunstreaker had him pinned against the wash bays wall. Cold solvent dripped onto his helm from the first spigot and he did his best not to struggle when the volatile mech leaned away, grabbing the cleanser from the shelf and soaking a rag.

“You give it up to any who looks at you, you know what that’s called?”

First aid trembled at the hardness in the yellow mechs voice. The hard edge of panic rising up.

“S-shareware?”

“Yes, that’s just what you are.”

The warrior pressed the rag against the medic’s chest, the undiluted cleanser making his plating tingle as Sunstreaker moved the rag in slow swipes. A knot formed in his throat when he realized the frontliner was writing on him. The cybertronian sigil for ‘easily passed around’ with sub meanings pertaining to interfacing, slowly stripping the paint off his chest.

Sunstreaker dropped the rag and pushed him to the door that opened with a snick.

“Not everyone likes a whore.”

The sneer on the perfect face hurt and the human word felt doubly vile. He tried to keep the fluid from falling from his optics, wrapping his arms around his chest to hide what was there as he walked through the corridor away from the wash rack. The solvent was starting to burn, but he didn’t want to go back to his quarters with Powerglide’s gift and intentions still spilt over the floor, Ratchet was in the med bay and thought this was ok, and the rec room was full of mechs that would take what was written on him for fact. 

If they didn’t already.

First Aid hiccuped, the lump in his chest and throat growing with each step, and he blindly turned down a dimly lit corridor to avoid several approaching mechs. He was shaking and his chest was really bothering him, he needed to get the cleanser off before it etched his plating permanently.

He turned again and bumped into someone. Stammering an apology, he backed away, then looked up at the questioning growl. The large helm sat cocked at an angle, concern glimmering the optics and the small ambulance quickly broke down sobbing, throwing his arms around the metallic tyrannosaurus. Grimlock huffed against his plating while he cried himself out, small arms patting the medic’s shoulders. Then leading him to the Dynobots quarters to clean the cleanser off.


	5. Chapter 5

First Aids hands shook as they worked the rag over the sigils scrawled into his chest yet again. He felt every line, every perfect curl in the calligraphy marking his chest. Each swipe making his spark ache more, as his fingers traced the words over again. 

What if they were true? Or, what if they were supposed to be true and he was fighting a losing battle with himself? Would he be okay with being a whore?

Startling when Grimloc gently touched his shoulder, the closeness of the larger mech made his field shiver in anticipation and want and he forced himself to pull away from the touch. Aching with need for the closeness, but dreading that the contact that could invite more. The Dynobot pulled his hand back with a odd look, then handed First aid a new cloth and dropped the soiled one in the dirty bin. 

His chest hurt badly, the constant ache and denial, all gathered to form a heavy lump that made his spark feel cramped in its casing.

Not everyone likes a whore. Did Grimloc? 

His chest plate had stopped burning from the solvent a while ago, but the need to get clean remained. His seams itched and his legs felt grubby. The shower in the troop wash racks didn't do anything but make the dirty feeling worse. First aid ran the clean cloth over his chest, feeling the slight dip of the chemical etching through the rag as it soaked up any remaining moisture that his heated frame hadn’t evaporated away.

First Aid send out a ping to his brothers and felt out along the bond. They were all still busy. His lips quivered behind his mask as he let out a shaky exvent and looked up to cavern's ceiling.

What should he do Hot Spot? The pain in his chest was getting worse and he needed a merge. 

“You should sit.” Grimlocks deep voice toned, echoing slightly in the cavern.

Grimloc motioned to the couch set up in the central part of the cavern with an outstretched sweep of his arm. The Dynobot having shifted to mech form to help him remove the solvent as hands were needed. 

The Dynobots quarters were in the belly of the mountain the Ark had crashed into. The massive entry door really being the ship’s cargo hold entry. The cave had stalactites and stalagmites forever reaching out for each other as well as the cybertronian amenities that Wheeljack had made for the larger bots. Though they looked sorely out of place, with a much mended couch fitted between two massive stone pillars that looked like earthen waterfalls pouring from a hole in the floor above. 

First Aid reluctantly set the rag on the counter and curled up against the arm of the couch.The oversized cushions cradling him as he fiddled with his knee plating and refused to look at Grimlock who had escorted him at a respectful distance. 

Even just fiddling with his plating felt good, then clenching his hands so hard his fingers ached, felt good too. His lips trembled behind his mask as First Aid forced his hands to unclench and hold onto a cushion instead. The medical side of him knew it was just his automatic adaptives compensating so he could do what need to do; frag someone. Not just frag, but merge. That his own systems were subverting his pain receptors to facilitate it. Were he not the one undergoing it, he would have found it all fascinating. As it was, he felt sickened by it all.

First Aid let out a small whine, instantly his face heated as Gimlock looked over and he covered his face with the cushion in his hands. 

He was pathetic. How could he feel like this now? The words etched into his chest were right. That’s what his body was not just saying, but demanding and adapting to make it happen.

His throat tightened again as tears gathered and his interface signaled its readiness with a bead of lubricant escaping his panel. His gestalt bonds screamed at the closeness of another, as the buzz of his brothers seemed like a distant, hollow echo.

He let out a strangled cry as he felt the bond strain under the distance between them and the demands to join with his brothers. His fingers dropped the pillow to clutch at his chest, digging into his side panels as each pulse of his spark left his circuits raw with the emptiness of the bond.

He needed to merge. It hurt. It hurt so much that the pain of his and Tracks attempted interface seemed minor. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

First Aid gasped raggedly as his chest started to open, squeaking in shame he turned away from Grimlock to cover the gap with his hands to hide the light escaping the crack. Lubricants trickled down his thighs as his spike strained against its burning housing. 

The larger mech brought his arms around the medic and picked him up before sitting on the couch with the struggling medic on his lap. With a shuddering gasp First Aid buried his face in the crook of the Dynobots neck and wantonly pressed their chests together. The closeness of another spark had his gestalt links singing in relief and he echoed it with a warbling exvent. Palming the contours of the massive chest as he shifted in a rhythmic pattern, a small pleading whine escaping him that he couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed of.

Grimlock used one arm to keep the medics legs pressed together and off to the side with a large hand on his knee to keep his legs closed, much to First aids relief and dismay.

“I will not frag you, but I will provide the closeness you require.” The gruff voice made the chest vibrate with each syllable and First aid crooned then let out a jagged gasp as Grimlocks other hand gently pressed on his shoulder. Giving himself fully to the embrace, First Aid latched onto the kibble on each side of the Dynobot and pressed his marred chest against the yellow and grey plates of the larger mech.

Whatever shame he had dissipated as the sensation of Grimlocks spark close to his made him mewl, and shift against his large companion. Fingers tracing transformation seams as he rocked, red chest slowly parting to cast flickering white light over them as he whinned. 

“Please Grimlock. Please.”

Grimlock held him close, stopping the dance and let his exvents wash over the small needy medic.  
“I’m not going to merge with you ungrounded, you can only do that with you brothers.” First aid whined again, hands roving over the heated frame as his spark called out for more.

The door hissed open and Grimlock pulled First Aid close as two mechs approached, hiding the medics open chest plates.

“This wasn’t what I was expecting when you said a crime had been committed Grimlock.”

Prowls enunciated tenor echoed in the caverns and First Aid froze as Ratchet let out one of his patented ‘disapproving huffs’. The want and need that had been boiling in him turned cold and he threw himself off the Dynobot, staggering back a few steps before shouting.

“ You said you’d let me handle it!”

He shook in his rage, fists clenched as his mask snapped back into place. Optical fluid burned in it’s ducts as he refused to cry at the larger mechs betrayal. 

“I trusted you. How could you?”

Prowl stood just inside the common area with his helm slightly canted and his gaze locked onto the furious medics chest. First aid’s ex-vents sputtered as he hurriedly crossed his arms to hide the sigils marking his paint, face suddenly burning as he backed away.

“First Aid.”

He hiccuped and refused to look at Ratchet taking another step back only to stumble on the uneven ground and wince at the not so gentle tug in his valve. It was Grimlock who reached out to steady him and First Aid pulled away.

“No! You said you wouldn’t say anything! But you did! You're just like Tracks!”

He hiccuped again.

“Don’t touch me, please don’t touch me.”

His arms wrapped around himself tightened as optical fluid leaked down his face.

“I thought I could trust you!” 

A lump formed in the throat as a sob tore out of him.

Grimlock growled, not the awful sound from the night on the mountain, but a low plaintive noise.

“Let us help you, Ratchet can fix it, Prowl can make sure it won’t happen again. Your brothers are not here, but you are not alone.”

The large mech reached out for him again and the small medic shyed again so he dropped his hand then turned to the senior medic.

“Tracks didn’t manage to break his seals. As far as I could tell, they were nowhere near ready to be broken.”

“As far as you could tell?”

There was pause and First Aid could feel all 3 of their gazes on him, silently wishing the burning in his chest would melt him into puddle that could not be judged by them.

“I applied a salve because when his seals didn’t break, his valve lining did.”

First Aid let out a whimper and hid his face in his hands. Optical fluid flowing down out of his visor and dripping off his chin, words catching in his throat. 

“I never told him to stop, I didn’t say it was my first time.”

Ratchet gathered him up in a hug and set his cheek on the smaller mechs helm.

“It’s not your fault.”

“He told the whole Ark! He passed out, he shouldn’t be able to remember but he said I did things! Now everyone thinks i’m going to…”

The burning in his chest escalated at the closeness, his spark screaming for a merge and he let out a strangled cry as his chest plates opened again. Ratchet placed his hand over the gap as First Aid sobbed against his shoulder. A pinch at his medical port had him stiffen then blink blearily at his mentor as a sedative flooded his system.

“We will talk more later, right now your spark is showing high level stress fatigue.”

A sound caught in his throat as the last two days caught up to him and he sagged in Ratchet’s arms.

 

There was a soft fluttering on his chest plating that tickled. With a groan he reach up to brush whatever it was away and had his hand grabbed. Squeaking and sitting up, First Aid’s optics cold booted as recharge fell away and battle protocols came online. Sunstreaker let go of his hand and gestured to the fresh paint on his chest.

“Don’t touch it.”

He squeaked again, then looked away as the golden mech gathered his items from a berthside tray then made for the gap in the privacy curtains. 

“If you need help… with not having your brothers around… ‘Sides and I… understand what’s that like… and can assist.”

First Aids voice was rough and he coughed to clear it.

“Thank …..”

Sunstreaker had already left.

The curtain fluttered and his tank felt tight. Sunstreaker had offered.. What exactly? He swallowed against the lump in his throat as shifted as he felt his temp rise. 

“Ahh, you’re up.”

First aid jerked as Ratchet entered and set a hand on his shoulder, then pulled a seat from under a nearby console.

“Your brothers are on their way back, and Tracks is on an extended patrol.” 

The wires and tubes connected to him were suddenly very fascinating. His face plates wrinkled when he saw a machine he couldn't recognize, before he could ask what it was, Ratchet spoke. 

“First Aid, look at me.”

Slowly he looked up at Ratchet, the tired faceplates etched with sadness as his mentor gave his hand a soft squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked you if you were ready instead of just giving a speech.”

First aid nodded, unsure of what to do, or say. Ratchet was always so sure of himself, so knowing of situations and full of witty retorts even for Optimus, or wrenches for the less ranked. His mentor gave a weak half smile and patted his hand.

“Do you have any questions? I mean it.”

The words were out before he could smother them.

“Is it supposed to hurt the first time?”

As this Ratchet let go and crossed his arms. “No, not if your partner knows that you’re sealed and makes sure you're ready. There is going to be a pinch, but if you're ready, that’s all it is, a minor inconvenience at best. If you’re not ready it can hurt more.”

Ratchet made a gesture to him, then continued.

“As i’m sure you know.”

First aid tested the freshly painted area on his chest with a tap of his finger, inspecting the work rather than look at Ratchet.

“Am I supposed to be a whore?”

Ratchet sighed and shifted.

“I kinda made it seem that way didn’t I? Only if you want to be one Aid. If you want to frag every mech on the Ark, that your call. If you never want to frag anyone, that’s also your call. It’s your interface array, only you can make decisions regarding it.”

First aids chest felt tight and his optics burned. It was obvious, but also so good to hear coming from Ratchet. Another question came up but the burn in his chest consumed it, fingers dragging through the still tacky paint as he screamed against the inferno.

Ratchet was grabbing his hands as the unknown machine was connected to his chest. Energon rose in his throat and he gagged as a surge of energy coursed through his spark. Then another and another, the world around him grew distorted as the lights flared into stars. Someone was holding him, pressing their chest to his, tempering the surges that continued relentlessly.  
Another spark from behind him, pressing against his back yet connected to the one in front let the world focus enough for him to see the yellow of Sunstreaker and the black hands of Sideswipe holding him.

Each if his vents came in ragged gasps, a rag was pressed to his face wiping away wet he hadden’t realized was there.

“We have you Aid, your brothers will be here in a few minutes.”  
Sideswipes voice didn’t seem to be his cheerful normal tone, as a black hand patted his side comfortingly.

“Try not to throw up, again.”

Sunstreaker wiped the rag over what he could reach then tossed it at the cleaning drone. First Aid tried to apologize but only hissed static. He wasn’t even aware of his mask opening or throwing up at all.

The surges continued, growing ever more painful as firewalls fell in their wake. Ratchet assured him that was normal, if painful. That they were the only thing keeping his spark from destabilizing until his brothers could come. 

Sideswipe told jokes, Sunstreaker argued with him even as First aid tried to burrow closer to the spark in the yellow chassis. Ratchet hovered, in constant rotation of checking the machine, First Aids vitals, telling mechs that came in to get bent and yelling over the comms for updates on when Skyfire would land with the rest of the Protectorbots.

After what seemed like forever, with the jolts bringing optical fluid and whimpers as they rendered his circuits raw, his brothers clamored into the medbay. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were replaced with Hot spot and Blades. His larger brother unabashedly throwing open his chest for a full merge before the twins were off the berth.

He could feel his brothers again, the bond full and singing as he reached out to hold on to Grooves as Streetwise wedged himself onto the berth as well. No command was needed as Defensor formed, sitting on the medbay floor cradling his arm and crooning.

The waves of relief and warm and sorry we left for so long a caress to First aid’s sore spark. Happiness settling next to the soreness as they came apart and First aid was once again placed on the med berth, his brothers climbing back on as well. Holding him as he drifted off so his self repair could mend the damages cause by the prolonged separation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long wait. Sometimes things happen and what you love no longer sparks your interest. And even though you look at it, and KNOW this is important to you, you just can't feel it. It takes a while to get it back, but by then you've lost your edge.
> 
> So, sorry it this is a bit rough and a bit rushed and not all together.
> 
> Its kinda like me I guess.


End file.
